


Stumble Trip

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015), Strange Magic - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Dates, Awkward Romance, Awkwardness, Fluff, Humor, Love Is Never Easy, Love is Strange, Nerds in Love, Romance, butterfly bog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 02:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3711415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of incidences that further prove that no matter how in love they are, Marianne and Bog are the World’s Biggest Nerds and have no freaking idea how to do this Romance Thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumble Trip

**Author's Note:**

> Not an official part of my timeline, though I can see this happening early on in their relationship. I hope you enjoy it!

Ironically, everyone was surprised that they were, in the words of Griselda, taking it slow. 

Never mind that it was the first relationship in a very longtime for either of them, never mind that both still felt a roll of incredulous happiness whenever they caught the others eye, never mind that everything was still wonderfully and terrifyingly  _new._

Even after the grand display of celebration that both Kingdoms had urged them on in, even after that very public kiss, Bog and Marianne were still…well, Bog and Marianne. After guarding their hearts so determinedly for so long, adding on layer upon layer of armor forged from bitter loneliness and hurt, they each had to reminded themselves that it was alright to be defenseless when it come to each other, even as fingers, clawed and not, itched for the familiar and comforting weight of weapons, physical and metaphorical.

It was better for them to take it slow, no matter how many comments Griselda made about weddings, no matter how often Dawn would quizzically tilt her head over the fact that  _if you two are so head over heels in love, why aren’t you just going for it?_

But they  _were_  going for it, Marianne thought, as she let herself relax next to Bog as they watched from their tree branch as twilight claimed the Forest, the silence between them soft and companionable, shoulders touching. It was…just at their own pace, only slow by other people’s standards. For them…this was good. They would get there, like any other normal couple.

_Right?_

Bog let himself look over at Marianne, who looked peaceful, though there was a slight crease to her brow that he was beginning to learn she only got when she was deep in thought. She looked so… _right,_  sitting there, framed against the backdrop of his Forest, her eyes staring off into the distance, a slight smile on her lips. Bog gave a smile of his own, happy that they could just sit together.

_But should they be talking?_

He felt his stomach twist a bit at that. Wasn’t that what people in…people like them did? Talk? But…the silence felt so good, everything was so peaceful, sitting side by side like this, just taking in the evening. He wasn’t sure; he hadn’t much experience when it actually came to this sort of thing, his last horrendous brush with love leaving him with no idea what actually constituted as normal when next to the other person. Surely this was fine.

_Wasn’t it?_

He shifted a bit before glancing down at her hand, laying so casually on the branch, slim and pale against the rough bark, glowing a bit in the softly growing darkness, those slender spindly fingers still dwarfed by his.  He didn’t want to talk, Bog realized. What he wanted was to hold her hand, the smooth warmth of it a wonderful weight cradled in his own rough palm. It would be the simplest thing in the world, moving his hand over hers, nothing terrible or taxing about it. Certainly not a daunting task at all…

He looked down, his eyes flickering between where her hand and his hand lay, the distance between the two not great. Not daunting at all…so why the hells was his mouth getting inexplicably dryer?

Next to him, Marianne swung her legs a bit; unaware of Bog’s steadily increasing inner turmoil, though she did notice idly that she was getting a little bit cold. Maybe…maybe she could lean more against Bog? Share some body heat? That wouldn’t be too much, right? It would be simple, just lift up her arm and drape it around him, pull herself closer to him, nothing huge…

Bog was beginning to get seriously frustrated at himself, his wings twitching irritably even as his claws were scratching at the bark of the branch, not hard enough to be noticed but still leaving a mark. Gods, he was pathetic, a King shouldn’t dither like some Fairy – oh,  _that_ wasn’t good, he shouldn’t have thought that, he had to stop using that as an insult…

Marianne noticed Bog shifting a bit beside her, an odd look of guilt flashing across his face, and wondered if he was feeling cold too. Maybe she was too used to the Sun and how the earth and stones of the Light Fields held onto its warmth. Maybe being colder was simply a thing she was going to have to get used to when in the Forest. It was an easy sacrifice, considering, especially if she could use Bog as a ways to keep warm. That is, if she could be a big girl –  _Tough Girl_  – and make that first move…

Bog exhaled a bit roughly, and set his jaw. Right, this was ridiculous.  _Reach out; place your hand on hers._  The worst that could happen is that she would simply not respond.

_Or she’d recoil at your touch…_

Bog flinched, but gritted his teeth. That wasn’t fair, Marianne wouldn’t do that. She’d…she’d simply say she didn’t want to hold hands. He was  _not_ afraid of her reaction, was not going to be nervous, and certainly was not going to be shy. Gods,  _shy,_  he loathed that word sometimes. He glanced down at their hands, the sheer difference between them once more confronting him, and took a breath as he slowly raised his hand inch by inch, praying he could do this without her noticing. Or maybe just do it quickly, all at once, put his hand on hers -

Marianne felt another shivery chill trace down her spine, and pursed her lips. Okay, this was stupid. She was being silly; there was no way that Bog would think it was weird if she leaned against him, right? Because, after all, body warmth was a thing amongst goblins, right?  She should just do it, without even thinking, easy as anything –

They moved at the same time, Bog’s hand nearly slapping down on hers while Marianne pulled her arm up roughly to put around his shoulder, nearly smacking him in the face.

They each froze, staring at each other. Then they began to babble, words tumbling over each other’s in a rush.

“I’m sorry, did you – did you want to -?”

“No, uh, I mean – uh, yes, I did, but if you’d rather -?”

They both trailed off a bit, neither of them exactly sure what the other had wanted, nor if they were making all that much sense themselves.

Marianne bit her lip and wriggled her shoulders a bit before softly venturing, “I was…um, I was getting a little cold, and thought…maybe…?” She gestured somewhat lamely toward him and scooted a little closer, hoping he would get what she meant.

“ _Oh!_  Oh, aye, of course,” Bog answered, feeling his heart do a flip as she hesitantly leaned against him, before snuggling into him, relishing the warmth. The poor girl was chilled, and he frowned for not even considering the possibility – goblins were used to the natural dampness of the Forest, but for someone who had spent her life in the sunlight of the Fields…

Without even thinking, he wrapped an arm around her, tugging her closer. Any nerves he might have felt were washed away when he heard her give soft little sigh of contentment. He smiled, feeling his chin brush against the soft silkiness of her hair, before murmuring, “Umm…Marianne?”

She shifted in his arms, still warming up. “Yes?”

“Would you…” he stopped, stumbling over how to phrase it, his nerves returning in full force. “Uh, that’s…would you mind if…?”

Marianne turned to look at him inquiringly, her eyebrows scrunching down in confusion, and Bog flushed a bit before he gestured toward her hand, where it lay upon her lap. “Uh, may I…?”

She looked down at her hand, then back at his, his fingers nervously fidgeting, and realization hit her. Managing to contain her laughter in a soft smile, she reached over and entwined her hand with his, their fingers mismatched and stark against each other, before settling it down on her lap. “There. That good?”

Bog heard the soft teasing note in her voice, but he didn’t care, not when holding her hand in his felt  _so bloody right_ , not when she was curled up next to him, fitting against his body like she belonged there. He grinned before replying. “Perfect.”

Marianne gave a little hum at that, a bit of a grin on her face as well, and they lapsed back into comfortable silence as the sky darkened above them and the Forest came to alive with the night. 

* * *

“ – I swear, I couldn’t  _believe_  it, I thought the scouts had been lying, but they say he’s been everywhere with her, or…them, I don’t know exactly, but oh my god, the fact that it’s  _Roland_  of all people -!”

Bog couldn’t stop a grin as he watched her, hands flying around animatedly, her sheer delight over the delicious irony of that blonde twit’s situation infectious. “From the description of her, I would say she’s an old suitor of mine. Mother will be terribly disappointed over how fickle she turned out to be.”

“Yeah, well, Griselda can find a way to console herself,” Marianne rolled her eyes at him, not to be distracted from her tale. “I just can’t believe how perfect it is, though! I mean, obviously, I’m not saying it’s a punishment or anything to be with a creature like her, I’m sure she’s very lovely by Dark Forest standards –“

“She really wasn’t –“ Bog interjected.

“-But for someone as vain and power hungry as Roland, it’s just too perfect! He used to go on and on about how  _vile_  goblins were, how  _dangerous_  the Dark Forest was, so to have him get dusted by the Potion, the same exact Potion he was going to use on _me_ , and end up falling for one of them,  _it’s just so_  -!”

Marianne was about to say just what it was, but interrupted herself by in flinging out an enthusiastic arm only to have it smack against Bog’s face, her elbow colliding hard with his nose.

He gave a loud grunt of pain, reeling away and clutching at it, and Marianne gave a gasp of dismay and frantically scrambled over to him. “Oh my god,  _oh_  – Bog,  _I’m so sorry!_  I am so  _so **so**_  sorry, I’m so freaking  _clumsy_ , I get way too into stories, oh god, does it hurt really badly, tell me it isn’t broken,  _I’m so sorry_  -!”

“First you punch me,” Bog interrupted, his voice rather nasal as he continued to hold his nose, though the look her gave her was more amused than anything else, “and now this. I shudder to think what you would do if you truly set out to inflict pain, Tough Girl.”

Marianne huffed out a slightly guilty laugh, tilting his head back and removing a hand to get a better look at the damage. “Well, to be fair, the first time I punched you, I really was trying to hurt you. You were able to shrug it off pretty well.” His nose seemed fine, but the look she gave him was still contrite. “I’m really  _really_  sorry, Bog, seriously I am. I always get too into stories, Dawn will tell you, I’ve done it a bunch of times to her –“

“I believe I’ll survive,” Bog stated dryly before edging closer to her, intrigued by just how appealing the doleful look she was giving him was. “It takes more than a blow like that to fell a King.” She still looked glum, and Bog dropped the teasing and brushed a hand over her shoulder reassuringly before murmuring, “but I thank you for your concern.”

She smiled a soft little grin at that, before heaving a sigh. “I hate being so clumsy…”

“You really aren’t,” Bog assured, valiantly ignoring how his nose still stung. “Not when it matters, anyway. I’ve never seen you make a false move in a fight.”

“So far,” Marianne corrected him, but the grin she gave him had the familiar edge of her usual cheerful mischief to it, and Bog knew she would be fine. “So an elbow to the nose and a punch across the face won’t take a big bad King like you down?”

Bog hummed thoughtfully, even as his smirk grew. “Not in the slightest. Though if anyone could defeat me…it probably would be you.”

“Damn straight,” Marianne agreed, and Bog was able to excuse her cocky certitude what with how she was nuzzling against him, and he found himself weighing the pros and cons of getting injured if she was going to be this affectionate afterwards.

* * *

Bog wasn’t sure how she did, but when there was a will, there was a way, and nothing matched Griselda’s will when it came to ensuring plenty of opportunities for romance for her son and his new sweetheart.

Taking in the scene before him, Bog wished, not for the first time, that he had gotten his stubbornness from someone else, particularly someone who didn’t insist on pulling stunts like this.  _“Mother –“_

“Bog, what’s going on, Griselda said that you needed to see –“ Marianne voice abruptly trailed off as she took in the dining room, so much like the old one, and the now horribly familiar decorations strewn about it, “…me. Oh god, not  _again_.”  

“Surprise!” Griselda sang out, flinging out her arms proudly. “I thought you two deserved another chance at a romantic dinner! I spent the whole afternoon getting stuff prepared, so it’s even better than last time!”

“You shouldn’t have.” Marianne murmured, a somewhat ill look on her face as she took in the hearts and streamers.

“You  _really_ shouldn’t have.” Bog said, a faintly nauseated edge to his voice as he looked at the saccharine decorations that dwarfed the table.

“Aw, it was no problem!” Griselda carelessly shrugged her shoulders before cheerfully trudging out of the room. “Just thought it would help speed things up between you two kids! Let me know if you have any leftovers, you know Brutus is a bottomless pit with my cooking. Have fun!”

The door slammed shut, leaving them to look at each other, not quite certain what to do. Marianne ruffled a hand through her hair, shifting from one foot to the other, and Bog cleared his throat, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t used the destruction of his old Castle as an excuse to move his mother to different lodgings. The silence seemed to congeal between them.  

Marianne gave a grimace before muttering, “I wonder if we could get away with trashing it a second time.”

Bog snorted. “Tempting thought, isn’t it?”

“And you know I totally would, but…” Marianne looked at the table, and her stomach grumbled in a way that had nothing due to the distaste for the décor on it. “I actually  _am_  pretty hungry. Is your mom’s cooking any good?”

“I’ve survived it so far,” Bog shrugged, heading to the table.

“That’s reassuring,” Marianne rolled her eyes before following him, eyeing the food. Nuts, tubers, some dark fruits she didn’t recognize but didn’t appear wholly lethal, and some dishes that didn’t look all that much but were giving off some smells that made her stomach growl. Heck, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

She grabbed two plates and tossed one to Bog, who managed to catch it with remarkable dexterity though he rolled his eyes at her casual mishandling. Grinning, she began to fill up, but she paused after noticing something. “Um, I see just one chair.”

Bog looked down at the table, his stomach giving a twist when he saw she was right. “Uhhh… _right._  That’s, um, odd.”  _Oh gods, Mother, what are you playing at?_

“What was she thinking, that I would just sit on your lap - ” Marianne stopped abruptly, and both of their eyes widened at the realization that that was  _exactly_  what Griselda had been thinking.

Marianne gave a little gulp before continuing, her voice slightly shaky  “…Oh.”

Bog felt his face burn and closed his eyes, mortified. “I…um, I can sit on the floor.”

Marianne shook her head, a determined glint to her eyes. “Nu-uh, no way, I can…uh…” she looked around the room frantically –  _what could she do, sit on the table?_  – before she spotted their salvation and barked out a triumphant laugh. “Ha! Chair over there! Looks like she tried to hide it. God, that lady is  _devious.”_

“You’re only just beginning to realize that?” Bog answered, even as he felt an enormous wave of relief wash over him. It wasn’t as if the idea of Marianne doing… _that_  didn’t have a definite appeal, but…he wanted it to be natural, not because of his mother’s manipulations.

Marianne crossed over to the hidden chair, tucked behind a little counter, and gave a slight chuckle. “Well, I assumed you must have come by it honestly.” She grabbed it and pulled over to the table, the legs making a loud whine as it was dragged over the floor. Marianne gave a wince. “Ugh, that sounds  _lovely_.” 

“You think I’m devious?” Bog raised a brow at her as he grabbed both of their plates and set them down at opposite ends of the tables, a slight grin tugging at his mouth.

Marianne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of  _course_  he’d be flattered by that. “Mmmm, devious and dangerous and dark…” she continued, a bit of a purr to her voice, and stifled a snigger as Bog smirked, obviously preening under the praise. She grinned a bit herself before continuing, “…and a complete and utter dork, can’t forget that.”

The smirk swiftly vanished and she smiled innocently at his glare. “Lovely compliments from the girl with the uncontrollable elbow,” he returned, his voice cold.

“Oh, c’mon, at least  _I_  can say I’m clumsy,” Marianne retorted, her arms straining, the chair still squealing. She hadn’t expected it to be this heavy. “You  _are_  a dork, though. A dark and dangerous one. Own it, Bog. Embrace it.” 

“You’re utterly mad, you know that?”

“Mmm, and you’re a sweet-talker.” Finally getting the chair to the table, Marianne looked down at where her plate was and groaned. “Ugh, no way. We’re not sitting at opposite ends of the table, that’s  _way_  too formal.” She grabbed the chair and heaved, her grunt a mix of exertion and annoyance.  _Back to work._

Bog frowned. “What’s the matter with that?”

“It’s  _weird_ , that’s what! I don’t want to just sit and  _stare_  at you from across the table, it’s just…I don’t know, I just don’t like it.” That was a lie, she knew perfectly well what it was – it was too formal, too much like a real date, a  _date_  date, not whatever they had been doing, what was comfortable and known…

Bog snorted at that but reached over and easily lifted the chair up – god, sometimes she forgot how  _strong_  he really was – and walked over to where his place was, and set it down there. “There. Very casual. No danger of formality. You’re safe.”

She knew he was mocking her, but Marianne still felt a sense of relief as she made her way over, sliding into her chair as he did the same. “My hero,” she murmured, the hint of a sassy smile at her lips. “You’ll get a reputation for gallantry yet, Bog King.”

“Heavens forbid.” His answering smirk sent a little thrill of heat down her spine, and  _oh_ , how was she ever going to get used to this, did she even  _want_ to get used to it?

She glanced away from him, hoping he didn’t notice the flush creeping onto her cheeks, and randomly picked up a berry and bit into it, not sure what to do. Bog reached for his goblet, feeling equally lost, and took a slurp that sounded far too loud to him. Marianne chewed and squirmed a bit on her seat, and Bog drank and tried to keep his fingers from tapping restlessly. The silence was back, and they could both feel it pressing down on them as they sat there fidgeting.

Marianne tried to think of something, anything to do, to say, that would make some of the uncomfortable tension lessen. Should…should she offer some food to him? Should she get more to drink? She bit her lip. She had  _no_ idea what to do, what was normal, she had never really sat down to an actual romantic dinner before, she had only ever been to banquets with Roland.  _Dammit, Griselda._

Bog was becoming intensely and horribly aware that  _this_  type of silence  _wasn’t_  good,  _wasn’t_  comfortable, he  _should_  say something…but what? Should he compliment her? She looked beautiful; she always did, even if she was getting the same slight grimace he had as the silence thickened. They had sparred earlier that day…maybe he should say something about that…but  _what?_  It had just been another normal sparring session, nothing extraordinary. His mind was blank, completely and horribly blank - he had no idea what to say in this type of situation.  _Dammit, Mother._

Marianne swallowed her food, her gulp seeming to echo in her ears, and then glanced at him only to see him looking over at her hesitantly at the same time. They both quickly looked away, each of their necks burning.

Marianne exhaled and glanced over at him again, and Bog did the same, his shoulders tense and his eyes worried. Their eyes met and she couldn’t stop the nervous smile that bloomed on her face, and he quickly responded in kind, his grin genuine if a bit shy.

Marianne knew she should say something, knew she should be panicking even more as they continued to stare at each other, still smiling, but she was suddenly struck by how  _ridiculous_  this was, the whole thing, the  _stupid decorations_  and the  _chair_  and how  _worried_ she was over messing things up and oh  _god,_  it was just so patently  _dumb_. She bit her lip, but a giggle escaped her.

Bog immediately became terrified he had done something wrong, had humiliated himself in front of her, shoulders hunching up, but Marianne quickly clapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head, snorting. He watched her shake with barely contained laughter, and then felt his own mouth twitch, before chuckling himself. Gods, this whole thing was an utter disaster, what else could they do?

At the sound of Bog’s mirth, Marianne lost any control and leaned her head into her hands, laughing her head off. Bog quickly joined her, shoulders and head shaking helplessly as they both surrendered to the absolute  _ludicrousness_  of the whole evening, the aching  _stupidity_  of this dinner.

Marianne sniffed and wiped her eyes, desperately trying to reign in her giggles. “Oh my god…” she sniffled, her shoulders still shaking. “Oh my god, we  _suck_  at this. We’re just…we’re just  _horrible_!”

“Absolutely useless,” Bog agreed, slumping in his chair, his rough voice laced with laughter even then.

“God, all of this –“ she gestured to the decorations “-I still don’t like it!”

“I  _hate_  it.” Bog retorted, grinning.

Marianne giggled and threw a berry at him. “I hate it  _more_.”

He playfully grabbed at her, and she shrieked with laughter as his claws ran down her sides, tickling her, and she thrashed about on her chair before getting tugged to him and huh, guess she was going to end up in his lap after all.

Marianne’s giggles tapered off into a sigh, a smile still on her lips as she leaned against him comfortably. It was so easy, so natural, even after all that earlier awkwardness…

Bog’s grin softened into a smile, letting himself simply enjoy how she felt against him, nestled in his arms, and let out an exhale of contentment when Marianne spoke.

“So…we’re horrible and clueless when it comes to this stuff.”

Bog nodded, a pleased twist to his mouth. “Aye.”

“And…that’s totally okay. It’s normal for us.”

Bog looked up at her, lifting a brow. “Aye?”

Marianne nodded; looking very content perched upon his knee. “Yeah…who cares if anybody else thinks we’re going slow? Who cares if what we do isn’t seen as normal compared to other people? Normalcy is overrated.”

Bog leaned his cheek against her shoulder, enjoying the warm satiny smoothness of her skin against his. “And if we’re awful at this romance rubbish –“

“-Then at least we’re awful at it together.” Marianne reached over to the table and plucked up their goblets, handing him his before raising hers up in a grand toast, her smile wide and beautiful and finally free from worry. “To being awful.”

Bog grinned, feeling the most happy and relaxed he had the entire evening, and knocked his cup against hers before replying, his voice warm. “Together.” 


End file.
